An Assassin's Tale 1: Deception and Dishonor
by MDGeistMD02
Summary: The tale of Larothe Tristaine, a disowned scion of the aristocracy of Dunwall, who finds a new life among the Whalers... the hidden and supernaturally enhanced Assassins of Daud, the Knife of Dunwall. Includes characters and themes from the DLC as well. Rated T, but may go to M
1. Back-Alley Dealings

**A/N: This is my first attempt at writing a fic completely from a first person point of view. If you've read anything else I've ever written, then you know I don't usually do that, so it's kinda new ground for me.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Dishonored_, Daud, or any of the rest of the canon characters/locales... merely my own characters and ideas.**

* * *

_(To all Overseers of the Abbey of the Everyman:_

_The following is an excerpt taken from __**Deception and Dishonor**__, the first in a series of three journals collectively titled: __**An Assassin's Tale **discovered in an abandoned building__. Studying it should help provide insight into those vile beings who worship the Outsider. However, it should be noted that no evidence of the events described within can, as of this time, be verified._

_- Overseer Timms, Recorder of Evidence)_

* * *

**An Assassin's Tale, Book 1:**

**Deception and Dishonor**

**Chapter 1**

**Back-alley Dealings**

* * *

**My name is Larothe Tristaine.**

**I am the second son of Gaerman Tristaine, Head of House Tristaine.**

**I am the current living heir to the Tristaine Estates in Dunwall.**

**I am considered by some to be nobility.**

**Of greater import, I am an assassin…**

* * *

**The 7th Day of the Second Month, the Month of Seeds**

**Two hours before midnight**

* * *

The gentle lapping of the water against the hull was all that accompanied us as we made our way along the tributary. At this late hour most of the residents of the city were already home… most _honest_ residents I should say.

The night belonged to whispers and rumors, to dark shadows and nightmares given twisted life. It was a time when vicious thugs were bent on malign business, when rats scurried in great numbers, and when killers traveled freely. Killers, such as us…

I was at the bow of the small punt, jabbing into the black water with my pole, propelling our craft slowly forward. Thomas was standing on the till at the stern, steering with the oversized oar. Dust crouched low in the middle, keeping watch as we glided silently along.

"I don't understand," Dust whispered as she kept her vigil. "Since when are we under the employ of the gangs?"

"Times have changed," Thomas replied. "Whole Districts have begun to seal themselves away from the plague's influence." The master assassin paused.

"Maybe so," she replied. "…but I thought our services are usually reserved for the… _elite of Dunwall_."

"What constitutes the elite of Dunwall these days?" I mused quietly, not really expecting an answer.

"What?"

When I didn't immediately respond, Dust asked again.

"What are you talking about?"

I gathered my thoughts, then answered.

"The influence of those who once held power is waning," I explained as we approached another bend. "It's the criminals… the gangs… that have grown into forces to be recognized. They control most of the streets, most of the docks. Soon they may well control everything."

"But still…" she pressed as she looked up at me. "…we shouldn't have to cater to them."

"They are becoming a new aristocracy," I replied, glancing back at her. "An aristocracy of the Underworld."

"You and your dark philosophies, Trist," she commented lowly. "Sometimes I think you missed your calling."

"Master Daud has sent us to follow up on the job offer and we will enforce his wishes," Thomas interrupted as he leaned forward and pointed ahead. "There is our contact."

Dust and I turned our attention to where he indicated. About fifty feet in front of us, a weathered dock jutted out into the tributary. Near the ladder leading to the water's surface was a small lantern, whale oil burning bright inside. The smoked glass was tinted a dark green – a signal placed there by our scout that all was clear and safe to approach.

Upon the dock stood two figures, warming their hands over a small fire. They wore dark rainslicks that covered them from their necks to the top of their ankles, leaving only their hands, heads and heavy work boots exposed. As we got nearer, I noticed a rat on a stick cooking upon the bright embers.

Dust harrumphed as Thomas and I eased the punt alongside the dock. She reached out and extinguished the lantern hanging by the ladder.

"What's the point of Billie scouting ahead when these…" Dust's voice took on a distasteful air. "…_individuals_ are just going to call attention to the area anyway?" She waited for Lurk's signal lantern to cool down before unhooking it from the dock.

"I doubt it will matter," I answered, keeping the boat steady as Thomas tied it off. "With so many buildings condemned due to the plague, people are taking shelter anywhere they can find it. It won't seem out of place for some squatters to be here."

Thomas ascended the ladder, followed by Dust, then myself.

"We are here as instructed," Thomas announced to the pair. "Which of you is Thews?"

The taller of the two individuals - an older man with an unkempt, scraggly beard - snorted, turned his face and spit into the river.

"Neither, ya dark blighter," he grumbled in a low tone. "Think da boss'd wait in the damp for ya likes?"

Dust tensed at the arrogant tone of the man and took a half-step forward, but Thomas held up a hand at her. The master assassin directed his gaze back to the speaker as he addressed him.

"Then, take us to him so that we may conduct our business."

The man paused a moment then nodded. He slapped his companion on the arm then jerked his head at a dark alley to the west before heading towards it. The other man quickly snatched the skewered rat from the embers and followed.

Thomas continued after them, with Dust and me taking up positions of rear guard.

"They invite us here and treat us like gutted hagfish," my companion whispered behind Thomas and the others.

"As you noted earlier, they _employed_ us," I retorted under my breath. "There is a difference."

"Maybe to you," she scoffed quietly with a shake of her head.

"We represent Master Daud here…" I continued on in a hushed tone. "Not only by our deeds and actions, but word as well. Keep that in mind. He deserves our best efforts… as does Thomas." I indicated our superior with a nod of my head.

We walked the length of the dock and reached the edge of the cobblestone street before Dust replied.

"You're right…" she muttered with a quiet sigh. "As usual…"

I smirked behind the mask and cowl hiding my face.

We crossed the street and headed into the darkened depths of a side alley. Posters, ragged and discolored by the weather, lined the walls. A low stink hovered in this area, lightened by the filters in the industrial gas masks the three of us wore. I could imagine the full effects the unpleasant odor would have normally.

We passed three large buildings before coming to a cross-alley. It was vaguely lit by a streetlight at the far-end and some small lanterns positioned near the rear entrance of one of the businesses further south.

I glanced up at the sign above the door and blinked in surprise.

"_Desmot Press_?" I whispered, recognizing the bookbinding establishment we passed. I glanced around. "I… know this area."

Dust nodded slightly as she walked next to me.

"Yes, that was the Olkhein Docks we arrived on," she informed me. "Most of them were active when the Hatters had control here. Now there's not much left of them."

I glanced at her.

"Prices for goods were better then, too," she quipped in a low tone.

Before she was recruited into the Assassins, Dust had been a freelance river pirate plying her trade along the Wrenhaven River. She'd earned her nickname by being quick and skilled enough on a job to leave her victims with _'naught but **dust** at the bottom of their coffers'_ as she put it once. She sold her ill-gotten goods at an assortment of interesting locales spread out among the docks and piers of Dunwall… and other ports around Gristol when she'd attracted too much local attention.

"Here, then," our guide announced suddenly, bringing me back to the task at hand.

I looked over at the direction he'd indicated. Standing by a heavy wooden door bound with brass were two unsavory thugs attired similarly to the men accompanying us. A sign above the door labeled the establishment as _The Gullet_. Our guide nodded to one of the men, who responded in kind and unlocked the door for us. He stepped aside and held it open for us.

As we passed the doorman, I noticed the end of a long cleaver poking from beneath his slicker. Even though it was hard to judge, I had to assume each of these toughs was similarly armed.

The corridor into which we were led ended with a smaller door upon which our guide rapped once. A small peephole in the door slid open and an obscure face filled the hole. The peephole slid shut again and the door opened. We were led inside.

The room we entered was set in an earlier style, the wood and stone moulding along the edges of the ceiling and floor spoke of a subdued yet elegant symmetry. Clean edges with just enough design to speak of culture. The furnishings also spoke of class, though to a lesser degree. I admit I was surprised, not unpleasantly so.

"Well now, 'ere we go…" a crude voice called out from the end of a heavy wooden table. A figure stood and sauntered forward.

The individual was a solid man, perhaps as tall as I, dressed in black – black shirt, breeches and boots. Over his top he wore a heavy breastplate and pauldrons reminiscent of that worn by the City Watch Guard. His armor was heavier though and covered more of his torso. He also wore a helmet similar to the Guard but his had a thick steel mesh protecting his face. Thick leather bracers protected his wrists, and hanging from his wide belt was an odd curved weapon that looked like a grotesque amalgam of a peasant's sickle and a gaff hoof.

Even though I'd never met the man, I knew immediately who he was from reputation alone. His name was Steely Thews and he was the brutal leader of a gang of ne'er-do-wells known as the Barrel Boys.

He was also, as of this moment, our employer.

"Luverly…" the brute of a man appraised us. "Jus' luverly as pie, you lot are." A toothy grin split his twisted face. "Up fo' a bit o' murder, then?"

My 'fine and proper' upbringing caused my upper lip to twitch, hinting at a sneer that threatened to overtake my features. The gang-leader's improper dialogue rankled something bred into me, something I tried to keep deeply buried.

I detested my instinctual reactions brought on by years of growing up amongst the aristocracy of Dunwall. It was something that I hoped the disciplines taught by Masters Daud, Thomas, and Slade would overcome. For the most part the disciplines worked, but breeding was something I had to overcome if I wanted to continue to succeed in my chosen career.

I briefly glanced at Dust. She was a prime example of discipline overcoming nature. She was in truth fairly vicious and her background as a pirate would lend one to believe that she would never be able to overcome her chaotic nature or to learn the abilities our connection to Master Daud granted us. Her path was more difficult than most and I respected her for it.

"Which o' ya blighters is the one needs greasin'?" Thews inquired.

"What would you have us do?" Thomas asked in return.

"So, you're the biggin' here, eh?" Thews laughed. "All a ya 'ssassins look the same ta me."

To a mere cursory eye, the gang-leader was correct. If one observed closely enough, however, it could be espied that the uniforms Dust and I wore were a dark charcoal grey and brown revealing our rank of mere novices. Comparatively, Thomas' ensemble was a midnight blue and brown, indicating his status as master assassin.

"You indicated in your missive that there are some problems with the Bottle Street Gang that you want resolved," Thomas explained. "We are not going to fight open warfare on the streets for you. We are neutral and will remain so."

"In case ya get a contract to take me out, eh?" Thews laughed heavily, a hand on his gut.

Our superior's silence was his only response.

The leader of the Barrel Boys ceased his guffawing when he realized the answer that had been given him.

"Fine then," he growled and turned on his heel.

He went back to the head of the table and gathered some papers there. He marched back and slapped them down on the table near the three of us, revealing them to be crude maps of an alleyway.

"I'm havin' a meet with the Bottle Street Gang at half past midnight behind the old bakery near Garver Street. They'll be sensing treachery, and I want you there."

"We're not bodyguards," Thomas explained calmly.

"I know that, ya blighter!" He pointed to a spot on one of the maps. "The Bottle Streeters are 'specting treachery cuz there will be! I need you lot to assures me that the leader is killed at the meet."

Thomas paused as he studied the map, then looked back at Thews.

"Slackjaw is currently valued at two thousand coins from the Watch. We expect _at least_ that much for dealing with him."

"Fair nuff."

"If Crowley is there as well, we'll expect another twelve hundred."

"Okay."

"Plus an additional five hundred just for our time."

"Damn me, but I can get a better deal over at _Stamp's Money Lenders_!" the large man groused.

"But I doubt Stamp will be able to resolve your gang problems," Dust growled as she took a step forward, her hand fell upon the pommel of her sheathed blade.

The maneuver did not go unnoticed.

"Right then. What about a deal fo' ya? An even thousand coins fo' ya troubles and an extra five hundred, _minimum_, if any of Slackjaw's top Nellies come ta the dance and ya can peg'em. What do you lot say?"

"Any stipulations?" our superior queried.

"Jus' that I have ta be alive… and relatively unharmed mind ya, by the end of it. Ya knows, so I can guarantee your payment." The thug gave Thomas a hard look, a grim smile on his face.

Thomas was quiet while considering the offer.

"Very well," he finally replied. "In the name of Master Daud, I accept your proposition."

* * *

It was half past eleven. The signal lantern rested on the tiled rooftop where we awaited our scout, Lurk. The green glow of the tinted glass would be easy to spot for one of our kind from the street and surrounding areas.

We'd chosen to wait atop a low single-story family dwelling set between two larger apartment buildings. The shadows from the taller edifices were deep and dark, protecting us from the bright glare of the street lights.

As we crouched in the shadows, Dust explained more about our current employers.

"Back before Daud found me, the Hatters had control of this area, just like everything else. After the plague swept through, though, their power was crippled."

She leaned against a wall.

"The Barrel Boys are one of the gangs to crop up since then. They were smart enough to hire some muscle before making a play for the Olkhein Docks and the streets surrounding it. Glorified smugglers are all they were before that."

I looked over at her as she continued.

"That's how they got their name – the Barrel Boys. They use to smuggle northern sheep in these big barrels, mouths tied shut so their bleating wouldn't be heard."

"Sheep?" I asked, perplexed.

"There's a decent market if you know where to look. Tyvian sheep are sought after for their thicker wool. Those from the south of Redmoor are desired more for the flavor of their meat. Thews and his men made a small fortune rather quickly."

"Will there be a problem with them?" Thomas asked sternly, his gaze directed at her.

We both glanced at him, but I knew what he meant. Dust's attitude had been hostile since we first came into contact with Steely Thews' men.

She looked away.

"No," she replied, hanging her head low. "No, sir… I mean, Master Thomas. I… My personal issues will be set aside. I will make Master Daud… and you proud with my actions."

A low noise suddenly emanated from my left. A _**-hwuff-**_ that sounded reminiscent of a large candle flame being quickly snuffed out by a strong, sharp breath. I knew what it was, and suspected its origin, but nonetheless a sense of caution sent my hand to the pommel of my blade.

"So," a new voice interrupted our discussion of local lore, "what's the development? Are we doing business with Steely Thews or not?"

We turned in unison towards a figure crouched on the other side of the roof. The figure stood and approached slowly, coming out of the shadows to reveal another of Daud's Assassins. Unlike the three of us, she was dressed in a dark red and brown factory whaler uniform and vapor mask. She was a superior scout, was known for her excellent swordsmanship, and most importantly, she was Daud's second-in-command. She was Billie Lurk.

Thomas quickly explained the situation to her… the contract we had agreed to. She nodded in approval. I found myself staring hard at her; everything about her fascinated me. I'd seen what she looked like beneath the mask and cowl and could even now picture her features perfectly.

"Unfortunately, neither Slackjaw nor Crowley are in the area, so we won't collect anything for them," she admitted. "One of Slackjaw's up-and-comers is in charge of the local Bottle Street crew - an individual by the name of Slathersby Crumb. He's been looking for weaknesses in both the Hatters' area near Favre Square to the west and the Barrel Boys' territory here in Olkheim."

"What's his strength?" I wondered aloud without considering to whom I was speaking. "How many men?"

She directed her gaze at me.

"At least eight. That's not including his right hand, a blonde mountain of a man simply identified as Mutt." She shifted and then stepped towards me, her movements graceful. "Although, I've heard he's been hiring local talent to fill out his ranks."

I stood transfixed by her. There was such a pure intensity about her – I felt myself grow warm by her very proximity. I suddenly realized my utter foolishness and silently berated myself.

"Where will you be?" Thomas asked, and I was thankful that Lurk turned her gaze from me to him.

"I'll be down that way," she informed us indicating where the street wound out of sight. "I saw a patrol of four Watchmen. Two Lower Guard and two City Guard. They wouldn't even be a challenge, but I'd rather we keep a low profile if we could. At least until our business here is done."

"Very well," Thomas replied. "The meet's in less than an hour in the side alley behind _Keiper's Pastries _near Garver Street."

"I'll meet you there as soon as I'm able," she said with a nod. "I just want to make sure the Watch isn't anywhere near when it goes down. Good luck."

She turned and with the same _**-hwuff-**_ sound she melted away into black ash-like shadows via her transversal. I watched the spot she had just vacated – mesmerized by the ease with which she seemed to do… everything.

Thomas turned to Dust and me.

"Let us make haste, then. We've less than an hour and I wish to be in a superior position before The Barrel Boys and the Bottle Street Gang arrive."

* * *

It had been nearly twenty minutes since we heard the tolling of Dunwall's Clocktower signaling midnight.

We were stationed about the open alleyway behind the bakery known as _Keiper's Pastries._ Dust and I had settled on the low roof of a shed built against a warehouse. We were back against the wall, hidden from sight. Thomas was positioned across the way, crouching quietly on one of the large water pipes that ran horizontally along the third story of an older apartment building.

Dust checked her weapons _again_ – the third such time since we'd climbed up here. I was about to whisper something to my partner when a loud voice boomed out of the darkness.

"Where ya at, Bottle Street curs?"

It was Thews's voice. He bellowed again.

"I'm here with three of my boys and we need to get this 'discussion' underway! I have a few trollops waitin', wat needs to be luvered a bit!"

I scanned the area quickly and spotted the representatives of the Barrel Boys. True to his word, Thews was only accompanied by three of his men.

"I'm here, braggart!" a similar cry issued from the other end of the alley. "And I've brought my own blokes with me to answer your challenge. It's time Garver Street and the surrounding area belonged to Slackjaw!"

_Braggart?_ I smirked to myself. If nothing else, this Slathersby Crumb _sounded_ like an interesting fellow. It would almost be a shame to put a wristbow bolt through his eye.

"Well then, c'mon!" Thews roared. "Let's be getting' the night's business done with!"

"I'll pray now that the Outsider takes your spirit quickly," the challenge was answered still out of sight, but I could hear the rustling of clothes and booted feet moving steadily along the stone-paved alleyway toward our employer.

"Damn blighter!" the leader of the Barrel Boys growled as he and his three companions stepped further into the alley. "I'll chop ya to bits meself!"

A quick movement in one of the windows on the floor below where Thomas was waiting grabbed my attention. The window slid silently open and the barrel of a pistol poked out. It was aimed in the direction of Steely Thews; the Bottle Street Gang had brought their own assassins.

I rapped Dust lightly on the shoulder and pointed to the window. She glanced in the direction I indicated and nodded quickly. I was preparing to tell her that we needed to signal Thomas somehow and let him know that…

"I'm on it," she whispered lowly and with a _**-hwuff-**_ she vanished from sight into smoky ash.

A moment later, I heard a sharp cry and an explosion of light and fire emanating from the room from which I'd seen the pistol emerge.

I shook my head; sometimes Dust had misconceptions about the meaning of _stealth_.

"Ya traitorous bastard!" Thews cried out at the noise. "Trying to kill me with your hidden murderers!"

The irony of his statement was not lost upon me.

"Kill him!" called out the still unseen Lieutenant of the gang from Bottle Street as he realized his trap had failed him. "One hundred coins for the head of Steely Thews!" A raucous cry went out from the enemy gang and figures started charging forward, coming into view.

I glanced to Thomas, trying to discern what he wanted me to do. He made a quick series of complex gestures towards me and then reached into one of his belt-pouches.

I nodded, understanding fully, and unbuckled one of my own pouches. I retrieved a grayish, hexagonal, metal cylinder some twelve centimeters in length capped with a brass lid – a chokedust grenade.

I snapped the pin off the lid as I stood. I hastened to the edge of the shed roof as I counted off the seconds.

_One… two… _

I leaned out and hurled the device towards the mob. It began trailing smoke from the lid as it flew toward my targets. A similar device tumbled down from Thomas' position.

With a pair of low thumps, our devices exploded right into the front ranks of the charging enemy, creating thick grey clouds. With guttural shouts of surprise, coughing bouts, and even the beginning of a sneezing fit for one poor thug, their charge was broken. But we weren't here to merely stun them; we'd been called upon to _destroy_ them.

I leapt from the low roof, drawing my blade in mid-air, and landed solidly in the middle of the alleyway. I crouched low and flexed my left hand, activating the hinged draw lever to the wristbow housed on the leather gauntlet there. I gauged distance to the first enemy, stood and clenched my fist at a specific angle, triggering the firing mechanism.

The metal-tipped bolt launched forward, striking one of the thugs square in the chest. He whimpered and fell back, though I doubted if my shot killed him. I lunged forward, thrusting my Assassin's Blade at the next opponent, driving the blade deep into his chest. He gurgled and slumped backwards.

A low _**-hwuff-**_ beside me let me know I didn't face the attackers alone. Thomas charged forth silently, quickly dispatching two more of the thugs in the time it took me to reposition myself.

The cloud of dust and powdered metal shavings our grenades had created began to dissipate. For the first time I got a good measure of the number we faced. Not counting the four Thomas and I had already dropped, there were _at least_ eight more with movement going on behind them.

Another _**-hwuff-**_ ushered the arrival of Dust slightly behind us. The familiar _whir-click_ of her wristbow loading followed and then a black-shafted bolt sailed past my ear. It impaled itself into the forehead of one of the remaining thugs, killing him instantly.

"They got p'fessionals!" one of the curs shouted, his tone a mixture of surprise and horror. "They done hired the Whalers!"

The assembly of thugs in front of us, both Bottle Street members and local toughs, outnumbered us easily _three to one_. They hesitated at our presense though, unsure of what to do, and we used that to deadly effect.

Thomas and I surged forward, each taking a side of the alley, plunging into the throng of enemies.

The first man I struck at had barely any experience with a blade, most likely a backstabbing thug used to accosting unarmed children and the inattentive elderly. I slid my blade neatly across his throat, slicing it wide. He gurgled, fell to his knees, then collapsed to the side.

The second man had more skill and actually parried my first high swing. I moved to the side and thrust low. Again he parried.

Under more genteel circumstances I might consider him a worthy foe, but I had no time for that. On my third motion, I made a slow middle thrust. He blocked me once more and managed to twist my blade with his, locking our swords. I pushed up and to the left, forcing him to move his swordarm away from his midsection, exposing it.

I raised up my left arm, clenched my fist, and unceremoniously shot him straight in the gut with my wristbow. He squawked in protest at the wound and relaxed his grip. It was enough.

I slid my blade back, stepped forward and thrust hard. My blade sank deep into his chest. He looked stunned for a moment, uncertain of how his end had come so quickly. My profession left me little time for remorse or guilt when it came to alley-bashers such as these.

I shoved forward and removed him from my blade, his body slumping on top of one of his fallen fellows.

I hazarded a glance at my companions, checking to see how they fared. Dust was locked in single combat with a rather skilled thug, while Thomas was holding at least two of the attackers at bay. Thews, a twisted grin on his face, and his Barrel Boys were standing back out of the fight letting us destroy his enemies for him.

I turned back to our foes just as a massive brute waded forward. He was nearly as large without armor as our employer, Steely Thews was with it. He had a brown overcoat and a small brown derby placed awkwardly on his blonde head. Based off of Lurk's earlier description, I assumed him to be Mutt, Slathersby Crumb's second.

"That's right, lads, that's right," came the familiar taunting from the back of the attacking crowd, although it seemed further away than before. "Get those braggarts! Get'em for Mister Slackjaw."

Without hesitation, Mutt plunged forward. His cleaver was a large, blackened slab of steel easily a third again larger than that used by the other Bottle Streeters. As much as it must have weighed though, he hefted it in one hand as easily as I did my own slim blade.

As he closed the distance with me, he swung the massive thing in a strong downward slash. I sprang back a moment before the blade would have connected. It crashed into the stone-lined alley throwing sparks.

I leaned in and thrust at the brute. I misjudged my enemy's speed for he quickly pulled his weapon up and deflected my blow. I shifted my stance and thrust again. Once more the heavy blade knocked mine aside.

I tried to bait him as I had my previous opponent with a slow and deliberate jab at his mid-section. The blonde man, however, batted my blade away, reversed the direction of his weapon with surprising agility and smacked my blade again, almost knocking it from my grasp.

Strength, speed, _and_ skill. I was beginning to detest this man.

He shifted his weight and drew back to strike again. This time I awaited the incoming blow. As the blade arced low, I neatly sidestepped, then thrust downward, trapping his weapon with mine. I aimed quickly and fired off my wristbow; the bolt buried itself in his side… and that is when my luck turned.

An enraged look overcame his features and he lashed out with his offhand with surprising speed. His fist caught me solidly in the middle of my chest with such force that the air exploded from my lungs. I stumbled back, slamming my head painfully into a side wall. I slid to the ground as I lost my grip on my blade.

Everything seemed to swim before my eyes. Dust was battling a lone opponent who had more bravery then sense, but she glanced in my direction, almost getting brained by her opponent. Thomas was routing a trio of attackers, the last I could see still standing, and did not notice my predicament. Neither could assist at the moment.

The brute lumbered forward, a cruel smile on his face. I tried lifting my wristbow to shoot him, but my arms wouldn't respond. I wanted to stand, to roll… _any_ type of movement, but I was too stunned. I couldn't even focus my thoughts clearly enough to transverse away.

As he loomed above me and his weapon begun its descent I saw my own death in his eyes. I wryly smirked. Larothe Tristaine, scion of the aristocracy, was going to be brought low, killed during some criminal back-alley dealings by a man named… _Mutt_. I could just imagine my father's disapproval.

A sudden coalescing of shadows accompanied by a muffled _**-hwuff-**_ changed my fate, however. An Assassin clothed in dark red suddenly appeared in front of me, blade held at the ready. Billie Lurk had arrived!

Mutt's cleaver was deflected perfectly, the blackened edge of his weapon guided down and to the side by the precision of my crimson clad savior. Lurk kicked outward, pushing the large felon back. She stood and aimed her wristbow which had been specially modified. A fusillade of three black-shafted bolts launched into the blonde assailant and he grunted painfully… but still did not fall.

Lurk, however, was far from complacent. She sprang readily at her foe, blade pulled back. At the last moment, she homed her sword deep into Mutt, skewering him right above the collarbone. She wrenched her weapon free, spun in a half pirouette, and neatly sliced through his neck… completely severing flesh, sinew, and bone.

The weapon fell from Mutt's lifeless grip, as did his head from his shoulders a moment later. As his body tumbled down, my savior turned toward me, offering her hand.

"If you're going to survive in this game," she commented dryly, "you'll have to be more careful than that."

* * *

**A/N: I've taken some liberties with the world of Dishonored.**

**The first of these being that Billie Lurk is mentioned as the only female Assassin/Whaler in the game – I've changed that slightly by adding a few more.**

**Second, I haven't seen a working timeline for the events of the Dishonored game/DLC and for that I apologize. I've therefore taken artistic license and used my own as best I could based off of events in the game. Should I get a correct timetable… I will edit the dates of my fic.**

**Finally, Larothe is pronounced like Lair Oath, emphasis on the Lair.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Such Delicious Irony

**A/N:**** I'm going to warn you... this is one of the dreaded things I call _description chapters_. What're those? The plot-heavy, description-and-background filled chapters with just a tiny **smidge** of action thrown in. My apologies in advance.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Dishonored_, Daud and the rest of the canon characters and ideas - wish I did, but all I own are my original OCs and ideas.**

* * *

**Deception and Dishonor**

**Chapter 2**

**Such Delicious Irony**

* * *

_**The 8****th**** Day of the Second Month, the Month of Seeds**_

_**Morning**_

* * *

"_It should have been you in that dark pine box… the coffin that arrived so elegantly polished."_

_I was taken aback by my father's harsh words. He sat behind his grand black-marble topped desk, judging me… judging my worth… which was apparently lacking much in his eyes._

"_Edwin, my pride and joy… taken from me," he accused as if somehow I had killed my beloved brother. He steepled his hands in front of his face. "Edwin should have stayed here. Ran my businesses, my estate, all that I have spent years to accumulate. Instead, he goes off, enrolls in the navy, and gets dispatched by common pirates of all things." His gaze bored into me._

_I stood quietly, unsure of what to say._

"_Now, all I'm left with is you." He rose and grabbed a stack of my Academic books bound together by a thick leather belt. "A would-be philosopher and student of… __**zoology**__? Void take me, who even studies that? Your lesser nature sickens me."_

_He flung the books, striking me unerringly in the chest, knocking the wind from me and causing me to fall down. He snatched his walking stick as he moved around the desk, disgust in his eyes. He neared me and I flinched as he raised his cane high._

_Then abruptly in a different voice - feminine yet very familiar - he asked, "You dead yet?"_

**…**

**…**

My eyes popped open. I inhaled sharply and suddenly I was in the infirmary.

I sat up in my bed and looked around the small room. I espied a figure dressed in a dark charcoal grey Whaler's outfit standing in the doorway.

"What?" I asked blearily, realizing I must have dozed off.

"I asked if you were dead yet," the figure repeated as she entered, then relaxed her stance. "Seeing as how you're answering me, I guess you aren't."

I chuckled as I recognized her voice. It was my friend Dust.

I swung my legs over the side and moved to stand. As I did so, however, a sharp twinge shot through my chest. For the briefest moment I imagined with some horror that my father had actually managed to wound me through my dreams, even though the particular conversation I had dreamt of occurred over seven years ago.

"Still hurt from the pounding Mutt gave you, eh?" My companion shook her head even as she pushed back her hood and started unbuckling the leather straps of her industrial gas mask. "You're not getting soft are you, Trist?"

"Hardly," I groused.

I stood, seeking my shirt as Dust finally managed to pull the heavy mask away from her face.

"Ah, better," she sighed and set it down on one of the small counters. She brushed a hand through her hair, flattened by the straps of the mask. It was cut short on the back, top, and sides with a pleasing geometric shape that conformed nicely to her features. Her natural black hair color faded into a light maroon shade that she had dyed the low-hanging bangs over her eyes.

Standing about five-and-a-half feet tall, Dust was an appealing young woman in her mid-twenties. She was pretty with surprisingly delicate features and a long, slender neck. Her large brown eyes missed nothing and a smooth, sculpted jaw gave her face a slightly serpentine look. Her features as well as the soft dusky hue of her skin hinted at her mixed heritage.

Her father was a native of the southern island of Serkonos while her mother was a sailor hailing from Morley. All of the lively passion of the Serkonon people mixed with the hardy and tumultuous spirit of the Morlish - no wonder she became a pirate, I thought with a smirk.

Finally giving up the search for my missing top, I went over to the standing mirror wearing only a pair of dark grey breeches. I examined that which was reflected in the mirror's surface.

To say that I was horrid looking would be an outright lie, but I never really thought about my appearance truth be told. I just… was.

In a rare instance of beneficence, my father once admitted that I reminded him of my mother, his first wife, before she became ill. I liked that, for she was a beautiful woman. Of pureblood Gristian stock, I did have the same pale skin, black hair, and sapphire eyes... but her beauty? I couldn't see it.

I studied my visage: a smooth, clean-shaven face with sharp features and high cheekbones, a thin nose, and lips better suited to a woman.

The only feature of any note was a slim white scar on my lower left cheek that passed across my jawline and onto my neck. Some people would see it as a blemish, a blight to hide away. Not so with me. I remembered the day I received it. It was a reminder of the first time… the first time I took a man's life.

Regardless, I was in much better physical condition now than in my youth. My body was long and lean, with a marked athletic build I had slowly honed after years of practice with the sword. I was at least proud of that.

I examined the slight discoloration that had started to develop on my chest – telltale signs of the bruising I suffered from my encounter last night near the Olkein Docks. I turned to examine my side. The skin was starting to bruise there as well. I shook my head; I would be stiff for a few days.

I turned back and found Dust staring intensely at my bare torso. She blinked in surprise as I noticed her and quickly averted her gaze.

"Tavier," I explained as I finally spotted my shirt behind her. I went and snatched it from where it lay, hastily tossed over a small chair.

Her brow furrowed as her eyes found my face.

"I'm sorry… what?"

"Tavier," I repeated the name of my absent fellow Whaler who ran the infirmary. "He told me not to. Something to do with the restriction of my lungs' ability to expand thus resulting in potential for sickness." I finished buttoning up my shirt. "And with this plague rampant… I thought it best to listen to him."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she admitted.

"You were looking at me?"

She hesitated a moment, an odd look on her face.

"I, uh…"

"No doubt you noticed the lack of bandaging around my ribs," I clairifed as I searched out my boots. "The ribs need to heal without constriction. Since there's no open wounds, I have no need for wrappings." I stopped and glanced back at her. "I assumed that's why you were staring."

Before she could reply, another figure in a dark charcoal grey outfit appeared in the doorway and entered the infirmary.

"You dead yet?" the figure asked, echoing Dust's earlier inquiry.

"You, too?" I scoffed, recognizing the voice of Pevic. "The deep concern my fellows show for my predicament is truly touching."

"I just want to know if your loft in the Legal District will be available," he explained. "Mine's not nearly as nice."

I grinned as I gathered up the rest of my outfit.

Each of us - Assassin, Whaler, follower of Daud, or whatever the common public wished to label us at the moment - was encouraged to find and maintain private quarters when we weren't at the Flooded District. Somewhere we could live, store supplies and equipment, and even hide when necessary. It was an unfortunate reality that our line of business wasn't always the safest. If detected and we needed to lay low, or injured and needed a place to recuperate, it was always better to have a close 'bolt-hole' as it were than have to traverse the entirety of the city just to reach our base of operations here. I maintained three such locations hidden throughout the city, including the one of which Pevic spoke.

"Don't know why you're smiling," Pevic announced, noting the look on my face. "Thomas sent me to find you. Both of you." He glanced at Dust.

"For?" she inquired.

"Daud has summoned you."

* * *

The grand Chamber of Commerce Building - undoubtedly the hub of the Rudshore Financial District, an important financial center for the city of Dunwall. It was the goal of every merchant, solicitor, and tradesman seeking to make a profit… and every barrister, administrator, and aspiring judge seeking to change or challenge financial law. Or at least it was…

The poorly maintained levies and the flood that broke them changed all that.

A great three-story edifice, the Chamber of Commerce was now the base of operations of our master, Daud. Its large library that once housed the collective knowledge of all the financiers of the Empire was now used to gather information on assassination targets. The great council chambers where valuable trade negotiations were once debated, now served as a staging platform for various stratagems offered by our leaders. I could only smirk defiantly at the exquisite irony as we moved through the building – clearly the pathetic aristocracy had failed again.

As Dust and I continued, I glanced outside and noticed one of the large ivory statues that were situated at each of the Chamber of Commerce's five corners. The one we passed depicted Jessamine, the current empress. My eyes narrowed as the statue slowly moved out of sight. One of the few good aristocrats the cursed city had produced, Jessamine Kaldwin was a rarity as she actually _earned_ the title of **nobility** – at least in my eyes.

Empress Jessamine had made great overtures of acceptance to all of the citizens of the Empire regardless of class or race, and put forth continual efforts in maintaining the Empire during this time of plague despite naysayers and detractors. It's a shame she wasn't a bit more receptive to our way of doing things – she would greatly benefit from Master Daud's services. Unfortunately, the best of people were never the ones who employed us.

We ascended to the third floor where Thomas was awaiting us.

"Your injury?" he inquired as we approached.

"Tavier did well," I acknowledged. "I'm prepared for whatever assignment Master Daud or you wish me to attend next."

A low _**-hwuff-**_ emanated from the middle of the room, signaling the arrival of someone via transversal.

"That's good to hear," uttered a low, gravelly voice with just a hint of menace to it. "Because the Rudshore Waterfront area needs patrolling after we're through here." We turned in unison to look upon the new arrival.

At first glance, the man standing in the middle of the room could have been any citizen of Dunwall. He was a pale-skinned Serkonan in his early forties with short but thick black hair that was only now starting to recede. His face was weathered and just slightly pock-marked vaguely hinting at some childhood disease. He wasn't ugly by any means, but there was a cold aloofness in those grim, dark eyes that kept one at a distance.

He was also a man of contradictions. Shorter than my six foot height by at least two inches and wearing a dark red uniform he wasn't as solid as one might assume. He was lean with decent shoulders - the bulkiness of his outfit disguising his wiry build. He didn't appear overly-muscled, but his strength was surprising – he could quite easily carry a full grown man over his shoulder at a decent pace for a good distance.

His name… was Daud. Leader of the Assassins, of the Whalers, one of the most dangerous men in the city of Dunwall… and my Master.

Thomas, Dust, and I faced our leader, then immediately dropped to one knee. We balled our right hands into fists, leaned forward on our knuckles, and bowed our heads in supplication.

"Thomas," our Master addressed the higher ranking Assassin. "Report."

Thomas stood and nodded his head once in deference.

"The job went well," he began. "A more detailed report by the minutes is on your desk, Master. Suffice to say, no losses were sustained on our part."

Daud nodded with a glance in my direction. I felt the beginnings of a low flush come to my cheeks – embarrassment for having nearly gotten killed.

"Cost?"

"Two chokedust grenades were expended with full and appreciative effect," Thomas replied. "Their use was justified in my opinion. Seven normal crossbow bolts were used, two of which we were able to retrieve with no significant damage. Cost negligible outside the grenades."

"Good," Daud clasped his hands behind his back and began slowly pacing. "What are the prospects for future employment?"

"High for Steely Thews…" Thomas started but trailed off.

Daud stopped in mid-stride and glanced over at his Lieutenant.

"But?"

"He expects us to do the majority of his fighting," Thomas explained. "He purposefully put himself in danger to force our hand. We felled fourteen of his rival's men while he lost none of his own. His position became stronger in the area of the Olkein Docks while Slackjaw's influence suffered."

"Mm…" our leader pursed his lips as he thought. "I'd rather the Bottle Street Gang not become _too_ powerful… at least not so quickly."

"More factions also lead to more employment opportunities," Thomas added.

Daud grinned lowly.

"There is that." He nodded then looked squarely at his Lieutenant. "Payment?"

"Fifteen hundred coin, Master. One thousand for our services… plus an additional five hundred for the removal of one of Slackjaw's known underlings."

"You were able to kill Slathersby Crumb?" Daud asked. "I thought Billie said he got away."

"That is correct," Thomas admitted. "However, thanks to Larothe we were able to exploit a condition of the verbal agreement I had made with Thews."

"Oh?" At this Daud turned his gaze toward me and gestured for me to stand. "Do tell."

I rose and nodded once to my leader before replying.

"He left the contract worded poorly, Master Daud," I explained. "As he put it… a thousand for our services plus five hundred for…" I took a deep breath before repeating Thews' statement, "…'_any of Slackjaw's top Nellies that came ta the dance and we could peg'_." Speaking the untidy words aloud left a bad taste in my mouth, like eating ill-prepared liver.

Daud cocked an eyebrow, so I continued.

"As stated, any of Slackjaw's important hirelings could be considered… a 'top Nellie'. When Billie Lurk cut down Mutt, Crumb's right hand man, I made the argument that he should count as significant enough." I shrugged. "As the four of us had just destroyed fourteen of Slackjaw's men, Thews was in little position to argue having brought only three of his own followers."

My Master smiled darkly at my logic.

"Well done." He then turned to Thomas. "Pay out one hundred fifty each to those involved. Set the rest aside."

Thomas nodded.

"I've some business to attend to." He turned from us. "Keep me apprised of anything of note after your patrol."

I bowed again as he walked away.

"It shall be done, Master."

* * *

"Ratshit."

I blinked at Dust's rather colloquial statement.

"I'm telling you, back in the day this place was expensive," Pevic said, then indicated me with a nod of his head. "Just ask him. He'd probably know better than either of us."

Pevic, Dust, and I were tasked with making a routine patrol around the Rudshore Waterfront. After passing through the Central Rudshore Rail Line Station, we'd quickly made our way to the rooftops.

We had followed along the flooded Agroosh Way, once one of the main thoroughfares for this part of the city. Now it was a breeding ground for hagfish. We were crouched low beneath one of the rooftop watertowers near the intersection of Agroosh Way and the Ebenazar Causeway.

Finding little movement save for the fish and rats, we'd begun to discuss the particulars of the history of Rudshore. How we reached our current topic of discussion - the average rent of a small loft or apartment in the area - escaped me.

"I guess ninety-five coins isn't too bad," Dust finally gave in.

"That's for a small size one, you have to remember," Pevic pressed. "Bedroom and small kitchen. Not even a private bath."

Dust just shook her head.

"Stupid merchants," she muttered. "You can rent a whole single story dwelling for about one hundred and ten a month in the Distillery District."

"That where your bolt-hole is?" he inquired in an amused tone.

"Like I'm going to tell you," she replied gruffly.

"It's per week," I finally interjected, not quite keeping up with their banter.

"I'm sorry… what?" she replied. "A week for what?"

"The cost, ninety-five coins," I looked over at her. "That's how the Financial District works… or worked I should say. Nothing was done here per month. The rent was per week, usually in advance."

"Are you serious?" She sounded surprised.

I nodded.

"That's insane," she remarked. "What the fu-"

"Language, Dust," I admonished lowly. "Remember your disciplines."

She harrumphed, then after a deep sigh, calmed herself.

"Sorry, Trist," she apologized. "I just don't like this area. It sets me on edge."

She cast a slow glance toward the end of Agroosh Way, where the water hadn't quite flooded up the cross street. There was a small colony of river krusts beginning to form there. Dust didn't like the mollusks, and I must admit I was never fond of the damnable creatures myself. They made good organic defenses for the area, though, so we were told to leave them be if possible.

"I understand," I said quietly. "It's better, though, to just…"

"_There aren't any custom inspections today!"_ came an odd cry from around the bend of Ebenazar Causeway.

The three of us paused and traded quick glances.

"Is that…?" Dust began.

"…Ol' Chumley," Pevic finished with a nod.

"You'd think the weepers would have finished him by now," Dust mused, then looked across the street. "Let's go see."

I leaned back.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I muttered.

"Our orders are to patrol the area, right?" asked Pevic as he stood. "And who among us is best known for his… how would you put it, Trist…?" He paused a moment. "Adherence… to our orders."

"Adherence sounds like something he'd say," agreed Dust as she turned her gaze toward me. "It's a big, long, and dreary enough word. Let's go, Pevic."

"Wait, I still don't think…" I started, but was interrupted by a pair of _**-hwuffs-**_ as the two of them dissolved into ash…

I saw them coalesce on a slanted rooftop across the street. I shook my head, knowing I was going to regret this. I concentrated and then quickly pictured a place behind them in my mind. I closed my eyes, focused and then… I _transversed_.

A rush came upon me, like a slight chill after a sharp blast of wind. Everything turned grey and black, and while my eyes were closed I could somehow see everything perfectly. I couldn't breathe for a moment, couldn't move even as time seemed to slow. Matter dissolved about me, shifted and then refocused again, as if I viewed the world through a pane of glass during a heavy downpour. Then suddenly, I could move again, matter became substantial once more, and time seemed to catch up with me. Though the entire process seemed to span several heartbeats, in actuality less than a third of a second passed.

I was crouched on the rooftop behind my companions, amazed as ever of my ability to do what I'd just accomplished. How was it so? Did I move matter? Fold space? Convert my entire body to mere thought and simply will myself at the speed of light across the way? I doubted I would ever know, but accomplish it I did… and rather easily. No wonder we Assassins were an arrogant lot, having powers such as these.

"Come on," Pevic whispered loudly, bringing me out of my self-revelry.

He made his way quietly across the rooftop, Dust and I following in his wake. We got to the wall of the next building, and hauled ourselves over. We passed a mounted ventilation unit on the roof of this building and moved to the edge, working our way slowly and quietly, closing in on the cross street.

"_I hear there's to be an embargo… it'll only raise the price of crystals, Joshua, and that's fine for me. Mark my words!"_ the odd voice continued shrilly then was followed by wheezing and gasping.

We dropped quietly onto a lower roof, then hastened forward; Ebenazar Causeway was right in front of us. We paused and peered over the ledge. There, down below us some forty feet, was the speaker.

None of us knew his real name. A thin, middle-aged man dressed in the worn finery of the aristocracy, he was simply known to us as _Ol' Chumley_. How he'd survived this long was a mystery. Hagfish swam freely, rats crawled everywhere… and even weepers shuffled along. Despite it all, Ol' Chumley survived. His skin was more pallid than the last time I saw him, though, and it appeared as if his hair had started to fall out in small patches.

"Look at him," Dust gave voice to my thoughts. "You think…?"

"Starting to become a weeper," Pevic muttered quietly with a nod. "He's got the plague finally."

He inched further, braced himself and started raising his left arm. With a slight _whir-click_ he flexed his wrist, loading his wristbow.

"What are you doing?" I asked, grabbing his arm.

"Ending the poor sod's misery, Trist," he replied coldly, yanking his arm free. "Wouldn't you want someone to do that for you if you became… infected?"

"I know I don't want to be one of those mindless moaners," Dust uttered quietly. "Stumbling about in the back-alleys and the sewage. Groaning in misery, retching constantly." She actually shuddered at her own words.

"Joshua?" Chumley called forth to no one. "Where you at, lad?"

"See?" Pevic retorted. "His mind's almost gone. I'm merely doing him a favor."

"Those aren't our orders," I said as I slowly stood. "He's not an intruder. He's definitely not a spy. Leave him be."

"You're actually serious. Why?" my fellow Assassin challenged as he too stood. "What does it matter?"

"Hey!" Dust suddenly called out in a loud whisper. "There's someone else down there."

Pevic and I turned our attention to the street below. For a long moment, we saw nothing… then suddenly…

"There!" I pointed to a broken stairway not twenty feet from Ol' Chumley. Hidden on the opposite side was a young man… a teen-ager by the looks of him. He had something bundled against his chest and peered out slowly to look in Chumley's direction. The soon-to-be weeper was facing the other way.

The boy hesitated for a moment then seemed to come to some sort of decision. He half-stood, eased around the stairway's railing, and slowly… he began to ascend. We watched, mesmerized by the young man's boldness. He was trying to get up to another landing to evade the diseased aristocrat.

The boy crept up one step…

Then a second…

And a third…

_**-SNAP!-**_

The rotted wood gave way on the fourth step and he fell forward, the object in his hands - a half-loaf of bread it turned out - nearly slipping away.

"Joshua!" Chumley burbled as he turned toward the boy. "There's my lad!"

"No!" the boy shouted as he scrambled to get his leg free. His efforts were hampered by his refusal to release his stolen food.

The pallid nobleman lumbered forward with a manic laugh, arms outstretched.

The boy managed to free his leg, and turned, falling back onto the stairway as Chumley reached him.

"I'm not Joshua!" the boy shouted as he kicked at his attacker.

A low moan emanated further up the street near a long hanging archway – more weepers undoubtedly drawn by the noise.

"Kid's a goner now for sure," Dust muttered as we watched.

"Wouldn't have been if you'd let me shoot Chumley," Pevic said with a glance my way.

"Dust, can you make the shot from here?" I asked.

She turned toward me.

"I hope you're kidding," was her response.

Of the three of us, I was perhaps the best swordsman. Pevic had his raw strength. Neither of us, however, came close to Dust's skill with the wristbow. I would wager on her ability with the unique weapon against any of the Royal Navy's crack marines with rifle.

"_Without_ hurting the boy?" I added.

"Humph," she replied derisively as she straightened her bow-arm. "Want me to spare Chumley, too, just to make it interesting?"

"Twenty coins if you can," I offered as an added incentive.

"Make it fifty," she countered as she flexed her wrist.

_**-pfftt-**_

The bolt launched forward, sailing unerringly down at her target. For the briefest of moments I thought she aimed too low. I admonished myself a second later for ever having doubted her skill, at least at this range. The metal tip bit deep into the aristocrat, right in the rump.

I smirked… Dust had a sense of humor if nothing else.

Chumley howled out in pain and leaned back. It was enough. The boy kicked out again.. and his attacker tumbled away.

He turned and climbed the stairs quickly just as a trio of weepers stumbled out of the dark gloom. The boy bolted across the landing to a high wall where a precariously balanced wooden bookshelf lay propped in the corner. Deftly, he clambered up it to another landing.

The boy laid his bread down carefully, turned, and reached low. He pulled up the bookshelf, cutting off any means of pursuit. He snatched up his ill-gotten goods again, then ran to a far corner of the highest landing where a make-shift sleeping area had been made.

"Joshua?" Chumley cried out, his scattered mind seemingly unable to comprehend where his quarry had fled to.

The newly arrived weepers got closer but ignored Chumley as they did so, confirming our suspicions. The unfortunate aristocrat was well on his way to becoming one of them.

"You owe me fifty coin, Trist," Dust reminded me as she turned her back to the street and eased away from the edge.

"I only offered twenty," I responded as I continued watching the activity below. After a moment, I glanced back to find her staring at me. I relented with a sigh. "Fine. Fifty it is."

Despite the loss of coin, however, I couldn't help but smile at the turn of events. Chumley, the last bastion of aristocracy in the Financial District was fading away, leaving only Assassins, diseased weepers, and street urchins to claim what once was one of the richest Districts in the Empire.

It was such delicious irony indeed...

* * *

**A/N:**** I want to thank everybody who reviewed my fic, follow/faved me, or just bothered to glance at my humble tale. I appreciate it.**

**Also, I want to thank _Kuroneko0489 _(a great writer here at FF) for letting me borrow some ideas of hers. The terms _Gristian_ and _Morlish_ are her original ideas and are used in this chapter with her permission. She goes by _Essie Essex_ over at the _Dishonored wiki_ and is a HUGE contributor over there.**

**Gristian -** a person from Gristol is Gristian. This can be a noun or an adjective, i.e. _That man is a Gristian. OR That man is Gristian._

**Morlish** - A person from Morley is Morlish. The noun for a person from Morley is Morlish(wo)man_, _i.e. _I am from Fraeport, which means that I am Morlish. OR As a Morlishman, I condemn the use of the racial slur "minnow" to describe one of my people._


	3. Rethreading the Web

**A/N: New chap and there should finally be a new cover pic (if I did it right). Yay!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Dishonored yadda yadda... only my own stuff yadda yadda...**

* * *

**Deception and Dishonor**

**Chapter 3**

**Rethreading the Web**

* * *

_**The 9**__**th**__** Day of the Second Month, the Month of Seeds**_

_**The Flooded District**_

_**Late Morning**_

**…**

The pirate struck at me.

It was a good thrust, solid. I stepped to my right and brought my sword low, blocking the blow. The pirate backed up and regarded me coldly then her expression changed. She thrust again, aiming for my midsection.

I leaned back, bringing my blade down in a clockwise motion, smacking the attacking weapon aside, encircling it, and finally catching it near the pommel. With a twist and a yank of my own sword, my opponent's weapon flew up and out of her hand only to clatter dully as it hit the wooden floor.

My antagonist was too stunned by the sudden turn to do naught but stare at me as I aimed my weapon at her collarbone.

"Yield, villain," I demanded smugly.

A vile sneer overcame my opponent's lovely countenance.

"Ratshit," Dust protested harshly. "You cheated."

I was taken aback by her abrupt accusation.

"I-what-**_cheated?_**" My words stumbled forth as she went to her fallen sword. "That's not even possible. It was standard swordsmanship. One simply cannot _cheat_ at swordsmanship; it's a matter of skill... and principle."

She snatched up her weapon and looked at me, eyes narrowed.

"_Rat._ _Shit_," she drawled. "An Assassin with principles, my ass." She moved to the edge of the training square where a pair of large buckets sat, fresh cool water within.

"Dust, language. Remember your disciplines," I admonished with a sigh as I joined her. She took a long drink from the ladle, refilled it, and offered it to me. I nodded in appreciation. She watched me as I sipped.

"You always win," she complained as she shifted her weight, placing a hand on her hip. "It becomes annoying after a bit."

I returned the ladle and paused, regarding her quietly for a moment. Finally I spoke.

"Blank this," I advised as I passed my hand slowly over her features.

"What?" she asked with a look of perplexity.

"Usually it doesn't matter when we are on the hunt, or patrolling. During those instances we wear our gas masks," I clarified. "But incognito, outside of our uniforms, on the streets among the common folk you need to learn to blank your face. Make it expressionless."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"You get… carried away sometimes," I continued. "You let your emotions take over and they can be very prominent upon your visage. Especially when we spar."

For the briefest of moments, I thought I may have angered her with my words, but instead she nodded.

"I… let you know somehow what I'm doing? What I'm thinking or going to do… with the look on my face?"

"Correct," I replied with a smile.

She let the information sink in.

"So, I'm giving you an advantage somehow?" she inquired.

"A slight one," I admitted.

"All this time?"

"Since we've sparred more often of late, yes," I said with a nod.

"And you've never told me?"

"Admittedly, Dust, I was hesitant to inform you," I explained. "I thought it may raise your ire."

She took another drink from the ladle, thought about it, and finally shook her head.

"So you _have_ been cheating, you chuffer. I knew it!"

I closed my eyes, shook my head, and sighed deeply as I pinched the bridge of my nose. I had truly hoped to avoid an argument.

"Hey," she whispered suddenly.

I opened my eyes and she caught my gaze. Her eyes flicked to look behind me with a nod of her head. I turned and saw Pevic standing near the entryway. He was wearing his Whaler uniform, but held his gas mask at his side.

Three years my junior, his full name was Pevic Tivauld, and like Dust and me, he also was a novice member of the Whalers. Of mixed Tyvian and Gristian blood, Pevic hailed from somewhere in the hills just south of Redmoor. He was tall, perhaps an inch over my own six foot height. The son of a livestock herder, he was solidly built and quite strong.

His pale skin and dark hair matched my own, but his hazel eyes showed a peculiar brilliance not seen in even some of the better educated citizens I'd run across. His hair was closely cropped and he maintained a small, neatly-trimmed goatee on his chin – an unusual custom on the Isle of Gristol.

"I've been asked to summon you both to the old solicitors' copying room," he stated.

I nodded and returned our practice blades to the weapons rack. I gathered up my uniform, folded earlier and set aside, then approached, followed quickly by Dust. As I advanced, Pevic stood blocking my path. I yielded and looked up at him.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to check. We're good, right?" he asked quietly. "I mean yesterday… with Ol' Chumley and all."

My brow furrowed a moment, then I smiled.

"Do not think so little of our friendship, Pevic," I reassured him as I gripped his shoulder with my free hand. "Dust, you, and I are comrades. Our bond made only stronger by our commitment to Master Daud."

He nodded with a grin, then stepped aside and immediately took up a position on my right as we continued forth.

The three of us had been with the Whalers for roughly the same amount of time. I had been the first to be honored by a visit from Master Daud, Dust had been approached next, and finally Pevic, all within a three month span. We were much older than most of the initiates he chose; usually Daud brought wayward children into his fold. Due to our similar ages and the timing of our collective initiations, we became fast allies.

We were inducted into the mysteries of the Whalers at the same time. Together, we were taught the disciplines we now held true. We learned stealth and obedience from Master Thomas. We gained martial training and mental focus from Master Slade. Our abilities we received from Master Daud himself the day we all swore allegiance.

My eyes misted over for a moment as I remembered that day, not quite a year ago. The three of us had knelt down in supplication in the audience chamber. Master Daud's words of praise at our skill and the rapidity by which we learned. The knives he used, one for each of us. A quick thrust into the arm; he said it was '_payment_' to help us bond with him. I never knew what became of those knives… but within a week Pevic, Dust, and I began to manifest our dark gifts.

"Welcome." Thomas's greeting brought me back to the task at hand. He currently occupied the copy room on the second floor of the Chamber of Commerce building. There, a multitude of desks once used by the clerks and scribes of the accounting office were situated. The Master Assassin was currently standing by one of them with a small stack of papers.

"You have need of us, Master?" I inquired with a bow of my head.

"Indeed." He rifled through the papers, retrieving two of them. "It's time to reconnect with our contacts. See which are still viable."

He glanced over the two remaining parchments he held in his hand.

"Dust, Pevic… I want updated reports within the next couple of days," he instructed my companions. "Contact your informants. Meet with your spies. Let them know we still watch them."

"And me, Master?" I asked.

"Accompany them for added security," he replied as he focused on me. "The Olkhein Docks are a bit too close to Favre Square and the Legal District where your contacts reside. I don't want too much activity in the same area so soon."

"Understood."

"If I may, Master," Dust said respectfully. "I know that my reports aren't the best but I do try to be thorough. Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," a new arrival interjected. I whirled at the familiar voice. It was _her_.

Billie Lurk, Daud's second-in-command.

She approached us smoothly, every step careful and precise. As was usually the case, she was dressed in her crimson Whaler's uniform, a color she shared only with Master Daud. She set her gas mask down on a nearby desk and regarded us all quietly.

Standing approximately five-foot-eight-inches in height, Lurk was a beauty to behold, with a smooth, dark complexion to her skin and full lips. Her dark, walnut brown hair was cut in a medium bob ending just above her shoulders. Her features were attractive, with a cool calculating nature to them, and her movements were always a mixture of grace and confidence.

As was oft the circumstance, I was enthralled by the presence of this powerful woman.

"Daud has some important business he needs to handle in the upcoming weeks, and we just wanted to make sure everything was going well at this end," Lurk explained.

"Do we think there is a problem?" Pevic asked, his concern evident.

"No," she assured him. "We want to make certain our eyes and ears are still active. That our web is spun wide enough. If you must, think of this simply as rethreading what is already in place."

"You'll have a few days to check over everything," Thomas informed us. "Do it correctly. We need precision, not haste."

He looked at me.

"After they've finished and their reports filed and reviewed, you can check on your sources. It will take a few days at most. The Watch will have turned their attention away by then."

"As you wish."

Thomas glanced at each of us in turn.

"Good luck and remember your bonds with Master Daud. It's what gives you strength."

We three nodded in reply.

Pevic and Dust moved to leave, but I hesitated. I turned to Lurk.

"Um, I, uh…" I stuttered like a fool.

She faced me, her eyes locking with mine.

"Yes?"

"I wanted… thanks for you," I blinked and cleared my throat in embarrassment. "I wanted to thank you, is what I mean."

"For?" she inquired as she cocked an eyebrow.

"A couple of days ago… at Olkhein Docks…" I went on, wishing now I'd never started.

An odd look came over her face.

"When I scouted the area?" She seemed puzzled. "It was my job."

"No, you saved me, uhm, came to my aid," I continued on. "From Mutt, you blocked his blow."

She blinked for a moment, then remembrance lit her features.

"Oh yes, that," she nodded. "You were the one who got knocked down, correct?"

I sighed and nodded glumly.

"It's alright," she declared, with a slap on my arm. "We're fine. You don't owe me anything."

"That's not what I…" I started meekly, then decided to drop the issue. "Um, yes, well thank you again."

She nodded with a half-smile then turned to Master Thomas, our brief conversation already seemingly forgotten.

I walked towards Pevic and Dust standing by the doorway, feeling a slight flush to my cheeks as I did so. I was berating myself for behaving like an errant youth fumbling with his first crush when I happened to espy the bemused grins on the faces of my comrades. I sighed as I closed the distance.

"Say nothing," I warned, knowing my admonition was futile.

I passed through the doorway, my two cohorts taking up opposing sides behind me as we went to acquire the necessary equipment for a prolonged venture into the depths of the city. It wasn't long before my best 'friends' commenced their nonsense.

"I wish to thank you, Master Billie," Pevic began, the inflection in his voice mirroring that of the aristocracy. "For saving me… from a most dreadful fate."

"Tut tut," Dust mimicked his tone. "Call me Lady Lurk please. What is your name again? _Lawrence_, was it?"

"Close enough, Lady Lurk," he muttered timidly. "But thank you for at least noticing me."

I shook my head at their rambling.

"Compose yourselves like professionals," I groused.

They paused, but only for a moment.

"You must admit, he spoke of his appreciation quite smoothly," Pevic continued.

"Quite smoothly, indeed," Dust mocked.

"Smooth as a floor full of glass shards," he quipped.

"Smooth as the spines of a black Morley Eel," she responded.

"Smooth as riding a maddened Blood Ox."

"Smooth as... the deadly kiss of an arc pylon," Dust finished with a light tone.

"Oh, I like that last one," Pevic acknowledged. "Almost poetic."

"Well, I am," she replied. "Poetic that is. Very much so."

I sighed deeply as I realized I was rather looking forward to venturing into the seedier parts of the city.

* * *

_**The 10**__**th**__** Day of the Second Month, the Month of Seeds**_

_**The Distillery District**_

_**Quarter to Midnight**_

**…**

What a difference a change of clothing and the ominous chill of the darker parts of the city can do for certain people, mainly my two companions. Where only yesterday I was pestered with a simpering duo that giggled and chortled like young maidens at their midmorning's favorite locality of gossip, I was now accompanied by a pair of true professionals worthy of the title, Assassin.

Bedecked in our customary Whaler garb - leathers, beltpouches, gasmasks, and specialized weaponry - Pevic, Dust, and I descended upon the murkier areas of the capital with purpose. In the last day-and-a-half we had crossed nearly half a dozen districts and sought out two of Dust's spies, a seamstress in Draper's Ward and a dockworker at the Schummel Dockyards, as well as a rail repairman who was a contact of Pevic's.

The muffled engine of our small riverboat pushed us slowly against the current of the Wrenhaven towards our next destination: _the Distillery District_. We traveled close to the shore, passing between large stone piers set into the river, some the weathered and crumbling remnants of long-collapsed bridges, others the first stages of new causeways yet to be built.

A low rumble from the middle of the grand river indicated the passage of one of Dunwall's large whaling trawlers, spotlights illuminating the river in front of it. The giant H-crane suspended above the main deck was empty, explaining why the vessel headed in the direction of the open ocean.

"Here now," Dust muttered lowly, her voice somewhat muffled by her gasmask.

I turned to look in the direction she indicated.

"We'll pull up along those rocks there," she said as she steered our craft toward the edge. "Pevic, undo the tarp."

Our companion nodded and began untying the large folded oilskin cloth.

Dust guided our craft expertly to a hidden alcove behind a pair of large boulders. She cut the engine and moved quickly, grabbing one of the ropes and tying it to the prow.

"Out of the way," she commanded and I obliged with a hidden smirk. The pirate was usually hidden under the layers of training and discipline, but on any craft worthy of being called a boat, even one as small as this, Dust's old nature poked through.

A few moments later and we were standing upon the rocks, our craft hidden under a dark canvas.

"Right then," Dust glanced up the rock shelf towards the buildings of the Distillery District. "Up we go." With a low _**-hwuff-**_ she dissolved into ash.

Pevic and I followed after.

**…**

**…**

We crouched quietly upon the roof of a building overlooking Endoria Street. As we gazed over the edge, we noticed a surprising amount of activity, even at this late hour.

Several of the Lower Guard were on patrol accompanied by a few of the sergeants of the City Guard in the area where Endoria met John Clavering Boulevard. Near them were about a dozen large crates and what appeared to be the disassembled heavy steel floor, sidings, and roof of a stationary Watch checkpoint. Off to one side, propped up against a wall, were four large electrical conductors waiting to be connected.

"What are they doing?" Pevic asked indicating a group of workers who were drilling into the stone entryway of the street as the Watch looked on. "They repairing the archway?"

"No," Dust replied grimly with a shake of her head. "It's one of those light wall things."

"Walls of Light," I corrected her. It seemed as if security was being increased, at least for the wealthy who dwelt on Clavering Boulevard.

"Doesn't matter what you call'em," she whispered. "They're nasty business. I don't like that new fangled technology. I saw one of those work on a poor sod once. Destroyed the man… utterly. Naught but ash left of him."

She pulled us back from the edge and leaned in close.

"We're atop _Bittersleaf Almshouse_ now." She pointed up the northern way to a cross-street. "Bottle Street's there. We're in Slackjaw's backyard now, so be careful."

We nodded.

"What's the address?" I inquired.

"It's 15 Bloodox Way," she replied then glanced at the compliment of Watch below us. "We're close. I want to take it slow with all of them here. Let's away then, but short distances for now."

"Understood," I answered. This was one of the districts Dust knew well, and we were content to allow her to direct us as she saw fit.

She transversed across the street onto another rooftop. Pevic and I did the same. We were about three buildings from Bottle Street as Dust leaned out and carefully inspected the area again.

Suddenly, an odd sensation came over me. I detected a sound, unlike anything I had heard before. The noise was peculiar, like a bizarre whisper. It seemed to consist of a slight, high-pitched grinding hum, not unlike that of tiny gears slowly whirling coupled with a strange whistling sound reminiscent of wind blowing through a long, thin metal tube.

The pitch ebbed and flowed, a tiny murmur coming from my left. I glanced over and perceived a rundown four-story brick building huddled against the large stone wall separating this district from the next. As my attention focused fully on the building, the resonance seemed to increase ever so slightly. I took a careful half-step forward. There was an uncanny pattern to the sound. It seemed to be organic yet manmade at the same time. Almost as if a machine were somehow… _**breathing**_.

_Perhaps if I got closer._ The slight hum droned on, beckoning me, wanting me to search it out. _Yes, closer, I should really get closer…_

"Trist!" Dust whispered as loud as she dared, yanking me back. "Are you even listening?"

"What?" I responded dully. "I mean, no, I thought I heard something. Movement perhaps."

"You almost fell off the roof," she retorted sternly as she pulled me away from the ledge. "What were you doing?"

"That building," I indicated the dilapidated edifice. "Who lives there? Is that a front for Slackjaw? His men perhaps?"

My companion glanced at the structure.

"That place?" She shook her head. "No, it's not the Bottle Street Gang, just an old woman. Destitute. A squatter. Goes by the name of Granny Rags."

She turned to me.

"Why do you ask?"

"I thought I heard something _odd_," I shrugged, not sure now what I had detected.

Dust paused a moment.

"The old woman's blind," she offered finally. "Mayhap you just heard her clambering about. Bumping into something."

"Mayhap," I answered, heavy with doubt as I glanced again at the building.

"Hey, you in this?" she asked.

"I am," I confirmed as I faced her once more. I shoved the decrepit dwelling from my thoughts.

"Alright, before you almost chose to dive off the roof, I had said we have one more jaunt and then we're on Bloodox Way. Let's do this."

I nodded.

She stepped back, then melted into ash as she transversed again, Pevic and I on her heels.

We appeared on a tiled rooftop overlooking a short, tight, stone road. Seeming more like a back-alley, Bloodox Way left much to be desired. Weeds were growing in clumps on each side, finding root in the thin street's multitude of cracks. Patches of the stonework road were eroded away, either by element or the boot of man. Buildings were uneven. Some rooftops led directly into lofts, allowing easy access for thieves, or killers such as us.

I shook my head. A very unfavorable place to inhabit.

"Plague's got here too," noted Pevic. He indicated one of the Watch's large steel door-braces, screwed tight against a first story loft down below.

"That's not our concern right now," Dust pressed. She pointed further up the path to a small metal sign propped onto the stone moulding of a stairway.

It read: _**Griff's Curio Shop**_

"The sign's not even bolted on," I grumbled. "How is this individual going to aid us?"

"I don't question your contacts; don't question mine," Dust growled back, then looked down at the stairway which led to a landing overlooking the road. "Griff's a survivor. If anyone'll make it through this plague, it'll be him."

"Very well, then, I acquiesce," I apologized. "How would you like us to proceed?"

"Give me a moment," she said. "I want to check the area."

Pevic and I moved back as she balled her left hand into a fist and concentrated.

Each of the Assassins of Daud had a unique connection to our Master. This connection allowed us in some way to 'tap' into the power he had; to use some of his vast array of supernatural skills and abilities. The first and probably foremost of the skills each of us learned was the transversal, giving us an incredible advantage over the common opponent. However, some of us had gained additional powers.

Pevic, for instance, was a good deal hardier than the average man. He had a robust constitution and vitality beyond even that of the typical young man whose childhood was spent raising livestock.

I, myself, noticed a marked improvement in my agility after my association with Master Daud.

Dust, however, seemed to gain a more extraordinary skill. By concentrating, she could tap into her connection with Daud and view the world in a unique perspective. She'd explained it to me before: color seemed to drain out of everything, leaving the world shaded in pale tints of bluish-gray, and consequently giving her the ability to briefly see in the dark. She could also somehow perceive living beings through objects such as walls and barricades at a range of about ten meters.

It was an extremely useful talent, but she could only maintain it for so long before its use began to tire her.

"I'll be right back," she whispered and then transversed away.

A few moments passed then she returned.

"He's alone," she announced.

"Then I guess the usual treatment?" Pevic put forth, a bit too much glee in his tone.

"Yeah, but nothing harsh," Dust countered. "He's not a bad sort actually."

"As you say," I agreed. "We will follow your lead."

We took a few moments to get into position around the 'curio shop' which in reality was nothing more than a small landing. A single table and some weathered shelving held an unimpressive collection of mundane items. There wasn't even a roof.

Griff himself appeared to be an older Gristian of some fifty or so winters. His hair was grey and had receded high on his head. His hands were large, indicating he had done some manual labor at one time, perhaps in his youth. His clothing - brown jacket, white shirt, wide leather belt, and grey trousers – were of a common make but well maintained and bore no holes or wear marks. Nor did his shoes.

A man of humble means who had enough self respect to work for a living and maintain his appearance. A tough and sometimes unrewarding thing to do in an area like this, especially so close to Bottle Street. I agreed with Dust's assessment of the man; he wasn't a bad sort and I even found myself respecting him a little.

From my perch above I watched as Dust slowly approached the old man, who seemed to be doing a late night inventory. As his back was turned, she gliding silently up the stairs and stood to her full height. He muttered numbers to himself as he slowly turned and nearly bumped into her.

"By the Outsider!" he yelped as he stumbled backwards almost crashing into his display.

"Hello, Griff," Dust hissed in a dangerous tone. "How's business?"

"Ulp! I-I'm fine," he mumbled. "Is something wrong? I haven't seen anything."

"Just checking on my friend," she went on. "You are still my friend, aren't you?"

He swallowed uncomfortably.

"Of c-course," he attempted a smile. "Why, uh, why wouldn't I be?"

Dust nodded.

"That's good to know. Be a shame if you weren't my friend anymore."

She crossed her arms as she spoke; it was the first signal. With a low _**-hwuff-**_ Pevic transversed behind her onto the stone railing surrounding the landing in a crouched position, staring silently at the poor, frightened man.

"Impossible!" Griff burbled.

I made my way down and quietly alit onto the low rooftop just above and behind him. I moved forward until I was just at the edge.

"Nothing's impossible for us," Dust threatened quietly. "Remember that."

At her words I stood up and applied my weight to one of the loose clay tiles of the rooftop upon which I stood. The tile shifted and made a soft clanking noise, but it was enough to cause the old man to look behind him. He saw me hovering over him and his eyes widened in terror. He knew he was at our complete mercy. Our true mission had been accomplished, to remind him as we had others of our influence and our power; anything else we gleaned from this encounter would be considered a bonus.

"There's nothing to tell!" he exclaimed as he faced Dust once more. "The Watch are putting up some of the Sokolov devices at the end of Clavering."

"We know," she responded.

"And the Bottle Street Gang has been marking everything plain. They control this area. And they're spreading their influence to other areas."

"We know that, too, Griff," she eased closer to the old merchant. "Tell us something we don't know."

He struggled for a moment to think of anything useful then finally he blurted something out.

"Holger Square!"

"What about it?"

"Supplies have been going there," he muttered. "Lots of supplies lately. And the Watch seems to be getting real friendly with the Overseers all of a sudden. At least the Watch around here have been. I overheard Corporal Meadows talking about it."

Dust paused dramatically for a moment, seeming to weigh the strength of Griff's information.

"Very good, Griff," she finally said, leaning back as her contact sighed in relief. "You did well. You'll be hearing from us again."

She turned to leave.

"Um," the old merchant hesitated.

"Yes?" Dust looked over her shoulder at him.

"My payment?"

"Ah yes! I almost forgot." She looked up at me still standing upon the tiled rooftop and snapped her fingers. "Pay the man."

I froze in stunned disbelief. Did she just _order_ me to…?

"The information was good, so fifty ought to do." She then turned away and descended the stairs.

With a slight shake of my head, I leapt down next to Griff. I opened a beltpouch, withdrew five large, golden coins and handed them to him.

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

_Don't mention it_, I thought dourly to myself. _Ever._

Pevic transversed away as did I a moment later, much to the discomfort of the old man. I jaunted back to Bottle Street and then to Endoria Street, keeping to the rooftops. I hesitated as the strange building came into view once more. I half-expected to hear the odd mechanical noise once again emanating from it, but there was nothing save the sounds of the Watch from further up the road.

Finally ignoring the place, I transversed again, slowly making my way back to the large boulders behind which our craft had been secreted away. Dust and Pevic had the canvas removed and were preparing to make way when I arrived.

"Good job with that, comrades," Dust muttered nonchalantly as she checked over the engine.

"Excuse me?" I protested. "Why did _**I**_ have to pay _**YOUR**_ contact?"

She stopped her activities and faced me.

"Why do you think?" she challenged.

"Because I haven't paid you yet for your shot at Ol' Chumley," I acknowledged. "It's just good circumstance that I brought a hundred coin with me."

She hesitated for a moment.

"No," she answered. "It's because you waited so long to tell me you had an unfair advantage during our sparring matches. I didn't appreciate that."

"What? You have to be joking," I said, astounded.

"I'm not. And actually, I forgot about the bet," she confessed, then held up her hand. "You can pay me for that now before I forget again."

I glanced over at Pevic who did his damnedest not to make a noise as he carefully folded the tarp. With a sigh, I reached into my beltpouch and retrieved the last of my coin. I pushed it into her hand.

"Satisfied?"

"Immensely," she admitted as she put the money away. "I got some information, and a decent payout. As I see it, this trip was completely worth it. Now push off and then stay low, out of my line of sight so I can steer us properly."

Pevic and I guided the small craft away from the rocks and into the deeper waters of the Wrenhaven before Dust started the engine again. When we were clear, he and I sat near the bow.

"Always an interesting time in the city, eh?" he asked quietly.

"Always," I replied tersely as we disappeared into the night.

* * *

**A/N: My apologies for this overdue chap... It was actually completed 3 days ago, but my beta-reader has been busy. So I'm posting this beta-free, but I had to reread this thing like six times just to make sure it was okay. Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your patience.**


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